Mean Gene
June 30, 2007
Scene 6
(bus station, night)
GENE
(through ticket window)
So it’s on the way? You’re sure? Another half-hour. Tops.
Whose fucking world is this? Whose world? Sent the checks. Never missed a check. Nothing. No pictures. No Christmas cards. My fault the bitch OD’ed? Good. Die like that. I admit it Carmen, one tough cripple junky whore you were. Tough as hell. Love of my life.
No pictures. No team photos. The kid did little league, didn’t he? Jesus. The kid’s gotta be a real prize. Getting high, fucking cheerleaders. Lucky shit. He’s gotta be a real prize.
(picks up payphone)
Yeah Tinker. Jesus. Place sounds packed. Yeah. Listen Tink. He’s late. How should I fucking know? The bus I guess. Another half hour they tell me. Sorry. I know. Hell, you’re an old pro. You keep the tips. Okay? You keep them. Just bring it home for me tonight Tink. Do me this favor will you?
No. I got a mattress. One of those inflatable things. With the electric motor. Yeah. Well it will be goddamn good enough for him. Little fucking Lord Fauntleroy. I bet he don’t even have a winter coat.
Sure sure. That’s real nice. Take him downtown day after tomorrow. That’s big of you Tink. Big shot. Shopping downtown with bigshot uncle Tinker. I’m just busting balls.
Yeah I’m gonna take care of the kid. We go down to the state building next week. Hell. They own my ass. Surprised they aren’t here to welcome the little sonofabitch themselves.
Hey Tink. That lake with dad? It was Round Lake, right? Forget it. You were too little anyway. Sure. Take care of business. Thanks Tinker. You keep the jar. You keep it all.
Hurry up you little shit.
(lights dim)
